


darkness is wearing my face

by hawkinzclub



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicidal Thoughts, as always, back with something not happy, billy did tho oop-, dun dun dun, hopper never died okay, takes place starting in november, the byers never moved away, the illithid is the mind flayer keep up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:25:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkinzclub/pseuds/hawkinzclub
Summary: Steve Harrington has a pretty face. The Illithid wants to wear it.





	1. happy birthday, steven

The Illithid is a beast of many attributes. The Illithid can take on many different forms, and roam to many different places. 

The Illithid is picky with its hosts. They must be strong, and resilient enough to carry it and its powers. Only the vulnerable can hold him.

The lost ones.

The easily angered.

The lonely ones.

The lonely ones are its favorite. 

When the Illithid grabbed ahold of William Byers, the boy fought from the inside. His mother, his friends, and others all fought for him on the outside, too. William had a run in with the Illithid’s world once before. It put up a good fight, it really did. But the Illithid never stood a chance.

When the Illithid got its vice grip on William Hargrove, it thought it succeeded. He was an angry boy, capable of the most horrifying feats, he almost murdered someone once. The young boy, easily angered, was the perfect candidate. Who would fight for someone so evil? But even the worst of the worst has someone who cares. The boy’s sister, fought for him. And that girl, _that girl_ was still alive. Ruining its plans left and right. It almost had her. It was almost rid of her, he almost had the world. The Illithid was going to end it all.

“ _We’re going to end **you**.”_

_“And when you are **gone** , we’re going to end your friends.”_

_“Then, we are going to end, **everyone**. **”**_

It was a beautiful mantra. The Illithid was so sure, confident that it finally had the world and its useless tenants in its dark cast. It was going to be over.

But that William boy had someone who cared about him, once upon a time. His mother, and the girl made him remember. It was stronger this time, it rested for eight months, and yet she still beat him. He was reminded that he once had someone who truly cared about him, maybe he even had the hope that she still did. And care, and love, the Illithid never stood a chance.

There will be no rest this time. The Illithid can wait no longer.

It will find the lonely one, and it will win.

November 2, 1985

Hawkins, Indiana

Steve Harrington is a complete, and utter failure.

Well, that’s what his father tells him, at least. And Steve believes it too. He can’t get into college, and his father says it’s because he’s dumb, but Ryan doesn’t know shit. Ryan doesn’t know that he’s had, like, a million concussions in the past two years. Ryan doesn’t know that for almost three years he’d fought off monsters from other worlds, and shit. Steve Harrington saved the fucking world, alongside little kids, Ryan should thank him. But Ryan, is just a _nagger_ , nag nag _fucking get a goddamned grip, Steven_ , nag. Steve sure as hell doesn’t want to work with his father, so his punishment was getting cut off from his funds, and being kicked out of the house. And really, Steve didn’t think it would be all that bad.

Then, he realized it was that bad. Most of his friends are at least thirteen years old. The ones who aren’t are his ex girlfriend and her new boyfriend, which no - that just won’t work. Nancy and him are good now, really, it’s just that he’s still having a hard time with his feelings. And he’d really rather not be in the same house as Mike Wheeler. And his other friend, she was a lesbian, (which took Steve only thirty seconds to understand what she meant during that moment, like saying that you want a girl to look at you wasn’t really - okay _whatever_ ) and while that would work perfectly, she’s (understandably) not out to her parents, and they wouldn’t approve to a boy sleeping around in their house.

The only option Steve has, is to sleep on the side of the road, in a different spot every night so no one will sniff him out. He sneaks into the pool showers, and the little money he has from the video store lets him stop by the laundromat to wash his clothes and get a little bit of heat, and he orders food from whatever diner before it closes for the night.

It’s not ideal, and it’s not working for him, like at all. It’s November, and it’s fucking freezing in November. On his many trips sneaking back into his house for toothpaste and extra clothes, he always forgets a blanket, so he uses extra clothes for warmth.

Most times, he turns his heat on and just deals with the loss of gas in the morning. But right now, he doesn’t care too much.

Steve Harrington’s birthday is November 2nd. No one except for his wonderful parents know, and with all the commotion of the last two world altering events, he never got around to exchanging birthdays with the kids. He knew all of theirs anyways, but whatever. It was his birthday, and he’s alone, sleeping in his car, and he’s freezing.

He’s not gonna bother with turning on the heat, because what’s the point. Maybe he’ll freeze to death and be done with all of this. It sucks. He sucks. Everything sucks.

He’d ordered a cupcake at the diner, and he cried into it, which was only horrifyingly embarrassing when the sweet lady came to him and told him she was closing up shop, but she brought him an extra cupcake and patted his cheek. Cheryl, was her name.

And after he devours the company of his cupcake, Steve Harrington is completely and utterly alone.

It’s nights like these, where he just about drives his car off the edge of the quarry. He had dreamt it up so many times, he could do it with his eyes closed, which might give him the outcome he would intend for. He’s been alone ever since he was twelve years old, after his parents told him that he was a big boy, and that he didn’t need a nanny anymore, it didn’t matter if he wanted one, it wasn’t going to happen. His parents come home maybe, three times a year, none of which are important dates like holidays, or birthdays. Sometimes they’re so quiet, he wouldn’t even know they were there. And now, he wasn’t even living there anymore, he’s in his fucking car, a _pathetic_ excuse of a human being wasting space.

He’s so useless, so incompetent, it wouldn’t even matter if he went off the edge. Who would even care? His parents won’t, that’s for sure, they’d probably miss the call from the hospital, _your son, steve harrington is dead_ , the kids won’t, they just want him for rides, and anybody can do that. Steve’s just available because he’s _useless_ , everything ties back to him being useless. And if you’re useless, then _what’s the fucking point_.

Steve Harrington is alone.

So alone, that when he hears a fluttering sound, it shakes him out of his skin. He’s shaking from crying, and as he exits the car his tremors only get worse. His socked feet get soaked with the wet ground, and he wraps his arms around himself. The sound is there again, a fluttering, like a giant butterfly.He wonders if the upside down has those. Steve quickly rounds to his trunk, then back to his backseat because _keys_ , he needs his fucking keys. He’s back to the trunk now, and he’s fumbling to open it, his fingers are stiff with the cold, and his hands won’t stop shaking. 

His radio turns on with a pop, and a song Steve heard maybe, once or twice blasts out at a volume that isn’t really acceptable in a small town on a night like this.

“ _Abra, abracadabra_!”

He knows what it is, the Byers kid explained it to him on many different occasions, and Steve could never understand. But now he does, he doesn’t even have to turn around, there’s no need for his bat because objects can only hit other solid objects. A nail bat would go straight through a shadow monster. Steve doesn’t stand a chance. He could run, but as he finally turns around, that’s a lost idea. The thing, the mind flayer is at least one hundred feet tall, running would be useless to Steve. It looms over him, dark solid, even in a shadow form, and Steve can’t help but close his eyes as it closes in around him, and takes him.

When it does, it’s a cold, seething pain. It feels like ice leaking into him, seeping into his body, crushing his cells and his veins. His body doesn’t have time to react, _he_ doesn’t have time to react. It is over as soon as it begins.

“ _Abra, abracadabra. I wanna reach out and grab ya!”_

November 2nd is Steve Harrington’s nineteenth birthday. It’s also the day where he started his new job, as the newest host to the Illithid. 


	2. monopoly

When Steve’s body sits in his old room, the TV says that Cheryl Adams was found dead outside the diner where she worked, early this morning. The news lady said, that her throat was ripped out, and that the police are launching a full fledged investigation to find the killer. The _killer_.

It was so gross, there was blood everywhere. On his hands, his face when he’d hyperventilated and touched his cheeks. It was in his hair because he tugs on it when he’s stressed. A tear leaves Steve’s body, he’s crying on the inside. The Illithid makes him smile, and he turns the TV up louder, blares the news of a dead woman, _she’s dead Steve, **you** did that._

“ _Steve, honey. You look dead to the world, what’s wrong?”_

She was so _nice_. So sweet. So willing to help him.

And he ripped out her throat in return.

He _tried_ to stop, he stood there, fighting the Illithid, resisting the pull on his body. He just stood there - twitching. And Cheryl was still there and he wanted to yell at her to fucking go away, to _leave_ , but she cared about him. She did, or else she would’ve gone and left him, like she should have. He fought, and he lost.

He’s 1-3.

He _lost_ , and the Illithid took over and he killed her. Left her cold and bloody body on the pavement for everyone to see the next morning. When old man Henry woke up for his early morning walk to the diner for his early morning coffee, he’d found her body. Henry Adams found his daughter, dead. He suffered a heart attack.

Steve killed two people already.

And he _knows_ that it isn’t him, but it’s his hands. He _is_ doing it. The last thing Cheryl saw before she died was his face. They made eye contact up until the very moment where the light vanished from her eyes. Steve has never killed anyone before. The Illithid tells him to get over it, now he has his first notch on his belt. Two, if you count Cheryl’s dead daddy.

It’s like, the Illithid has full control, but there are moments, just small moments where Steve can take it back, sometimes he thinks the Illithid just lets him, but he needs to believe that it’s because he’s fighting it, so he does. Every moment he spends in the void is just him watching himself move through his own eyes, he fights and screams, and there’s something of a barrier in the void. Invisible, and there’s another him on the other side. It’s probably the Illithid, he looks mean and his eyes are dark and lifeless, and Steve hopes he doesn’t look like that on the outside.

Steve’s body goes to the shower, then he packs more clothes and he leaves through his window as his mother’s car goes still in the driveway. For a moment there, Steve’s body stopped and stared. The Illithid was contemplating, Steve said **no**.

Steve’s body went back to his car, and in the void, Steve thanked those momentary lapses where he’s the one in control.

He’s got the thing with the kids tonight, he hopes for more of those moments because tonight is a night that the Illithid just won’t pass up.

:::

“He’s been sleeping in his _car_!”

“How do you even know that, are you _stalking_ him?”

”No, I’m not _stalking_ him.”

”Then _how_ do you know he’s been living in his _car_?”

“My mom’s seen his car on the side of the road, like every night!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Hopper clapped his hands with each word and rubbed his hand across his face, scratchy with having shaved earlier today.

The kids, well _Dustin_ , was trying to make a convincing argument as to why he, Chief Jim Hopper, should go and _investigate_ Steve Harrington.

Dustin moved over to him, leaving the game of monopoly, and headed to where Hopper and Joyce were sitting.

“A party member is in need of assistance!”

”Not a party member!”

Dustin turns around momentarily, “Shut up, Mike!”

Joyce looked at Hopper, a little unsure, she put down her beer and turned her body to Dustin, “You invited him tonight - right?”

He nods, she continues.

Her eyebrows raise and she waves a hand expectantly, “Okay, so, when he comes just - just _ask_ him, okay?

He huffed and looked at her with a frown, “You want me to ask _Steve_ if he’s _okay_?”

”Yes?”

Hopper sighed again, and rethought his life choices and how he ended up being surrounded by children for a good chunk of his days. 

“Look, kid. Steve’s a big boy, alright? I’m sure he’s fine.”

” _Fine_?!”

”Yes, kid, _fine_. He’s probably - I don’t know - smoking pot in his car or something.”

And yes he is the chief of police but, he’s cool?

Or lazy.

His beer gets knocked over on his pants and leaves an interesting stain. He look at El and frowns as a trickle of blood leaves her nose.

”Inconsiderate.” That’s all she says to him.

He gets up and goes to sit beside her. He gestures towards his pants in a ‘look at what you did’ and she giggles. 

“What did we talk about?” He asks in a sing song tone.

”Being nice?” Oh, she thinks she’s _funny_.

”No, kid,” He ruffles her hair and squeezes her in tight. “We said no powers, remember?”

She nods her head against his chest, “Still drained.”

He pulls away and says, “Yep.” And he pops the ‘p’ making her giggle.

Dustin comes over again, and god that kid is relentless, “Are you going to investigate Steve?”

”Kid, we only investigate _perps_ , and second, didn’t we already agree that would just ask him yourself?”

The kid just groans loudly, pulling his hat off with one hand and rubbing his face with the other. Hopper scoffs and suppresses a chuckle, he’d rather not have the kid babble on again.

And Hopper _is_ going to ask if the Harrington kid is okay, he just doesn’t need to make such a huge fuss about it. Being around these kids, fighting monsters and saving each other, Hopper has learned a lot about all of them. 

Like, for instance, Max likes to skateboard. And yeah, common knowledge to everyone bur for a minute there, Hopper only paid attention to El, so when he saw the redhead zipping around in the middle of the road, he had learned something to say the least.

He had learned through Claudia Henderson and her need to talk to someone, that Dustin’s father had died when the kid was maybe, four years old? He can’t remember the conversation quite clearly, but he looked at the kid a little more than he used to.

Lucas Sinclair, the kid looks strong and he is strong. Not just physically but mentally, he’s not afraid of anything. He never backed down, even when he pulled out the silly wrist rocket that Hopper thought was absolutely useless. And Hopper learned that, when Billy was the newest threat, the wrist rocket actually saved them, twice. Sinclair may or may not be his favorite.

Will, well Hop knew everything about him already. But each time something happened the kid just proved more and more the resilience that he has. And Hop won’t say it out loud, but it breaks his heart every time that a kid has to become resilient to something like that. It shouldn’t be a thing, but it is.

Mike Wheeler, he’s just annoying is all Hop’s got to say.

And El, his own daughter, he’s still learning things about her _every day_. She told him something that - completely changed his view on something. He’d felt one way, now he feels something else. She told him, so casual, and he had to tell - he didn’t want to - he told her that some people didn’t think stuff like that was okay. They didn’t think liking whoever you wanted was acceptable. He told her to keep her admiration for the red head under wraps, he wishes he didn’t have to.

Now Harrington, he learned that the kid compartmentalized. He didn’t like to talk about things. He’d rather suffer, keep his troubles to himself rather than let it out. Hop can tell that he doesn’t really feel like he belongs, and it’s crazy is what it is. Hop thinks somebody, anybody should tell him that. The kid just soaks up everything, all that pain, all that emotion from everyone and everything, and he just forgets to wring it out at the end, he holds it up. Hopper sees it in his shoulders, he’s so tense all the time, they’re always up to his ears in tension. The kid needs a break, and Hopper hopes that tonight, he can get one.

The doorbell rings, and Hopper thinks that this is his chance. His chance to talk to the kid.

Dustin shrieks and starts mumbling to himself, probably figuring out what he wants to say to Steve. Hopper stands up and moves to the door of the Byers’ house and wretches the door open, hoping the kid will walk in quickly to not let the heat out, but he just stands there.

“Kid?” Hopper askes slowly as the boy stares past him, instead of at him.

Hopper steps forward again, worry growing in his chest. “ _Kid_.”

Steve’s eyes finally snap to Hopper, and he smiles, but it doesn’t make Hopper feel good. It’s weird, he smiles too big, too wide and the emotion doesn’t match his eyes. Steve moves to walk inside, Hopper steps over so he can do so, and he watches as he goes to sit down on the couch as Dustin pawns over him.

Hopper sighs and passes it off as the kid being weird, and he goes back to Joyce at the table just as Dustin pulls Steve down to the floor.

”We’re playing monopoly because you’re too _stupid_ to grasp the idea of D&D.” Mike says sharply. He shuffles out the game pieces and money angrily. Mike glares at Steve all the while.

And Mike can’t see it, but underneath the coffee table, Steve’s digging his fingers into his thighs, because the Illithid wants to kill Mike first, in the void, the other him laughs and mocks him. Steve’s screaming on the inside.

”I don’t want to play.” He says.

Dustin stops mid roll, and gapes up at him. “What? C’mon Steve it’s fine, just forget Mike.”

Steve shakes his head and tries not to wince as he has to dig his fingers deeper into his thighs. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want to play.”

”Are you okay?” A voice says tentatively, and a small hand on his shoulder comes with it. Steve’s breath hitches in his throat and he slowly looks over to see Jane watching him, searching for something. He regrets looking, he’s losing control. His hands start to move, a frown forms on his face and Steve doesn’t want that.

 _Stop_.

Steve’s hand slams down on the table, jostling the game board and sending two game pieces flying. They all stare at him, he can even feel Hopper’s and Joyce’s eyes from the table behind him. Will’s eyes are peering into his soul, Steve wonders that, maybe he can see the Illithid, maybe Will can help.

Steve tries to say, “ _Help_ me, it _got_ me. Please help me.”

But what he really says is, “Sorry, I’m a little cold; just trying to get some feeling back into my hands.” He chuckles at the end, the _Illithid_ chuckles as it tries to stop the suspicion, to ease the confusion.

When Jonathan arrives home, Nancy behind him, the kids rope them into playing. They speak to Steve, and when it takes him longer than it should to react, their smiles falter and a look of pity crosses their faces. It’s pathetic, really. They don’t even realize that something is wrong, he’s just always been a little jumpy and weird, ever since 1983. And it’s _her_ fault, it’s hers. All of it is. _She_ came here, _she_ opened the gate, _she_ let the monsters in, everything is her fault. It’s her fault, Steve. If she dies, it’ll stop. Just **_end it_ , Steve**.

 _Stop_.

 **She’s right there. She’s right beside you, Steve. With me here, by your side, you have my power. You don’t even have to lay a hand on her, just end it.**

No.

**Do it, or I’ll _make you_.**

Steve’s shaking, and there’s something wet on his face. And it’s only now that he’s noticing that the game has been paused, and everyone is staring at him.

Dustin moves closer to him, “Steve, you okay buddy?”

Steve fights for control, “I have - I have to get back home. Yea - yea I have to go home.”

He gets up, and through all the protests and even with the Illithid inside of him, fighting to get to El, reaching for her. He leaves.

The Illithid tells him, “ **You’ll pay for this**.”

And when Steve gets home and spots both of his parents’ car in the driveway, he doesn’t doubt it one bit.


	3. the deaths in loch nora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is graphic i think so be careful, lots of violence, infidelity mentioned.
> 
> pat yourself on the back if you realized that in the first chapter i called steve’s dad john and then in the third he’s ryan! my apologies!!

As Steve sits in the floor of his former home with the telephone in his hand, in a pool of blood, he silently recalls the events that had just occurred.

He refused it, the Illithid. It wanted to hurt, Steve said _no_.

It all happened so slowly, so agonizingly slow that Steve could give a play by play of what really happened, not the lie he’s going to tell.

Steve refused the Illithid, it wanted to hurt El. He wasn’t going to let that happen, he couldn’t. She saved his life, his friends’ lives, she saved the very town that he lives in at this very moment, what kind of thank you would it be if he - if he just killed her.

Well, it wouldn’t really be a thank you at all, more like a _fuck_ _you_. Which was exactly what the Illithid wanted. 

In the moment, Steve thought for sure that she was worth saving, but now, was she worth - worth the-

A sob escapes his mouth in the void and he gripes the phone tighter, it slips due to the blood.

The Illithid made him do it, it’s what he tells himself. It was angry with him, wanted him to pay for denying it the satisfaction of murdering a little girl. Steve thought he was in control he really did, he never thought he was so naive.

:::

It happened forty five minutes before. 

:::

Steve exits the car shakily, trying to hold his legs in place, he doesn’t want to go inside, he’s been kicked out, he isn’t supposed to be here. He’s afraid of what he’ll - what the Illithid will make him do. He took a step, then another, then two more until Steve fully lost control of his body, then he was opening the front door.

Steve always told his mother to keep the door locked, she never listens to him. He walks in and the door opens so wide that the door knob knocks into the wall adjacent, and the glass of red wine that Josephine holds in her hand falls to the ground and shatters, staining the white tile. She stands up, startled, then her face goes from frightened to angry as she walks over to her son.

She’s in a robe and she hastily tightens it around herself, “Steven, what in gods name are you doing?” She hisses at him, and looks over her shoulder. She’s probably looking for Ryan.

Steve doesn’t speak, someone else does it for him, “I just wanted to see you, ma.”

It’s scary how much the Illithid sounds like him. Her face softens slightly and she takes his hands in her own. Steve speaks again, the words just spilling out, he no longer has control of anything. He just watches and screams on the inside as he begs the Illithid not to do it, please don’t do this.

”It just - it just feels like you and pops don’t care about me anymore, ma.” Steve grips his mother’s hand tighter. She flinches slightly, but ignores it.

”Aw _honey_ , of course we care about you.”

”Then why am I sleeping in my car?”

She breathes sharply, and glances towards the ground, the softness in her features turns sour, in the void, the other him, the darker one laughs. He says his mother is full of shit. Steve can only glare.

She lets go of his hands, “Steve. We’re trying to show you that you can’t just sit around and - and do _nothing_.”

Steve’s got control now.

He frowns hard, and his voice is raised as disbelief marks its tone, “ _Nothing?_ I got a job!”

”Yes, you did get a job, but before that what were you doing?”

He freezes momentarily, becoming something of a fish as he searches for the right words. She catches him, reels him in and she keeps going.

”You sat around here _moping_ , sitting around in your room, doing nothing! You didn’t even get into college!” She raises her arms up, and sighs hard and she lets them slam back down to her sides. She walks back through the living room to the kitchen, stopping for a second to wave her hand at the mess on the floor, she glances to Steve as if it was his fault. He follows her to the kitchen, only faltering for a moment when he spots his dad’s office, just off the hall.

He turns his eyes back to his mother, who’s grabbing another glass from the cupboard and then the bottle. She fills it to the brim.

She sniffles and wipes her nose with the same hand the holds the glass, some of its contents slosh on the kitchen floor.

”Ma, you’re drunk.”

She scoffs and whips her head, “I have a _right_ to be _drunk_ , Steven.”

He can’t pinpoint it exactly, but somewhere around here, he lost control. All of it.

He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it, “ _What_ does that even mean?”

She grips the glass hard as she slams it down against the counter, “It _means_ that I have a disappointment as a son.” She starts to sob, and she bites her fist as she tries to hold it in.

In all of his years of life, through his countless nannies and even the years after that when would be left alone for weeks, his mom always had a look in her eyes. She always looked a little sad, a little left off when she looked at him. But she’s never, _never_ said it out loud, never outrightly said that to him. That he’s a - a disappointment.

He’s had _two_ concussions in the past year, it’s not his fault if he can’t think like he used to. It’s not his fault that he can’t sleep at night, even before he was stretched across his back seat. The pool would glow into his room, even with the blinds closed, casting shadows that bounced off of the corners, making his heart rise to his throat. It wasn’t his fault that he actually cared about people and got his ass kicked in the process, by a guy who oddly enough was in the same position as him. Steve wonders if he’ll suffer the same fate.

Steve _had_ gotten a fucking job, and then he earned his second concussion after being tortured and drugged by _russians_. But of course, his mother didn’t know that. She never would and that’s not even the most fucked up part about it all. The worst part, is that he can’t even react like himself to the hurt, to his own disappointment of his mother seeing him as a pathetic piece of crap. It’s probably the only thing he and her have in common.

And he remembers now, it’s here where he lost the grip.

The Illithid laughs, he laughs so hard he clutches his stomach, reeling over. He grips the counter as he does. His fingers turn white.

His mother released the glass from her hands, it tips over and more wine spills out and Steve watches as the glass rolls down the counter and reaches the edge, then it falls over and crashes onto the floor, in pieces.

As he calms down, he chuckles once more. He says, “ _God_ , Josephine. You are fucking _pathetic_.”

She looks up sharply from where she was staring at the once glass, now shards on the floor, “ _Steven_.”

Steve leans against the counter, and sucks on his teeth with his tongue, “I mean, I think _you’re_ the disappointment here, Josephine.”

“Steven, I am your _mother_. You - you will not _disrespect_ me like this.”

He ignores her, and inside his own Steve watches in awe as his body gets up from the counter and angrily opens the cupboards.

”You’re pathetic, how many glasses have you broken?”

She hiccups and gasps as a little wine comes up, spilling all over her white robe.

Steve thinks, _that’s_ _enough_.

The Illithid isn’t finished.

Steve laughs at her, and her eyes water in embarrassment. He saunters over to the trash can and pushes the lid off, his mother flinches as it clatters to the floor. He reaches in and pulls out a bottle.

”Tsk, _mommy_. Did you drink all this by yourself?”

She covers her mouth with her hand as she starts to sob. Steve hears something _interesting_ from his dad’s office, and it finally clicks, both for the real Steve, and the poser on the outside.

” _Josephine_ ,” Steve says in mock surprise, “is this why you’ve been drinking this wine like it’s going out of style?”

She sniffles again and makes herself small as she crosses her arms, “Don’t- don’t call me that. I’m your mother.”

Steve laughs again, and he twirls the bottle in his hand, “You’re worried about my relationship with your first name, while yours with your husband is falling apart.”

He stands in front of her, she’s just a little thing, and he towers over her. “It’s in literal pieces, mommy.” He glances to the floor and she follows it, “Just - just like this glass on the floor, _pieces_.” 

She starts to sob, and she doesn’t hide it this time. And Steve, the _real_ Steve cries too. He knew his parents’ relationship was in shambles, but not this bad. He wishes he could really comfort her, take her out to lunch, make her laugh and smile. Maybe she wouldn’t see him as a disappointment anymore. But instead he’s locked inside of himself, with no way out, no way of helping or asking for help.

The Illithid pulls his mom in close, hugging her as she cries. “You’re out here, _damaged_. And daddy’s just in his office, fucking some other whore.”

She gasps and tries to pull away, ready to reprimand him, but he holds her in as she struggles against him. “I think I’ve had enough of our heart to heart.” He glances at the bottle he still grasps in his hand. “Three’s a crowd, but four - now _four’s_ a party.”

He maneuvers the bottle in his hand and grips it by the neck, and slams it down on the counter, sending shards flying. His mother yelps and steps back, putting her back against the handle on the stove.

”Oh, _dadddyyyyyyyy_!” Steve yells, the _Illithid_ yells.

The door to his father’s office opens wildly, and his father and a pretty young blonde step out, disheveled, looking like they had both royally fucked up. Well, technically they did.

He gives the girl a once over. Blonde, blue eyes, fuller lips than the average white girl. She wore a pencil girl, it’s probably the thing that reeled his dad all the way. Steve glances back up at her chest.

He says, “Oh, that’s cute. You still have your nametag on.”

She looks down at herself, and clears her throat as she rips it off and stuffs it down in her bra.

He picks up the bottle, the unbroken one that his mother had and took a swig from it, “Ryan and Hailey, what a pair.”

His father tugs at his tie around his neck and his eyes widen as he discovers the mess that's been made, both by Steve and himself.

"What have you done to your mother?"

Steve sets the bottle done back on the counter harshly and he looks to his mother, feigning surprise, " _Mother_ , did I _do_ something to you?"

Her breathing is rapid, and her hands are shaking and she won't look him in the eyes. She's terrified, it's just what the Illithid wants. His father steps forward, belt buckle jingling, "Steven -"

He's cut off, and in the void Steve is recoiling at how different his voice sounds, "Stop. Talking."

The woman, Hailey, scratches at her neck and leans on her ankles, "Um, may - maybe I should leave."

Steve stands up from leaning on the counter and steps over to her, the Illithid lays on the charm, stares her in the eyes as he grips her chin like a romantic, "Oh, no. I want you to stay."

He turns back to the father and the mother with his arm around the woman, he smiles down at her. He pats her cheek and he says, "Wait right here, pretty lady."

He walks over to the office, and he flashes a smile and a thumbs up at the parents as he does. As he scrambles through the drawers, he hears the parents bickering, and he can hear the ever so slight clack of Hailey's shoes as she shuffles her feet. She's actually doing what Steve told her to do, poor girl. She's gonna be dead soon. The Illithid finds what he needs with ease, and steps out of the office, concealing what he found until it was the right time.

Steve fought on the inside. The Illithid tells him, **you never had control. You had what I gave you. Now, I don't want you to have anything.**

Steve walks back into the kitchen with a story on his lips, stopping all conversation. "Did you _know_ , that your sons birthday was _two_ days ago?"

Ryan scoffs, "Really, is that what this is about?"

"You know, I wanted to kill you first. But _Steve_ wanted you to live." He says, reaching behind his back.

"Are you on fucking _drugs_?"

"How many times, _dad_. I don't _do_ drugs." He pulls the gun out, and cocks the hammer back. It's cold in his hands. "You really don't know your son, do you?"

And he doesn't even give Ryan Harrington a chance to speak before his brains splatter on the bare refrigerator. His mother's screams ring in his head, and even in the void, where the _real_ Steve lies in fear and shock, unable to take the reigns back and return to his true self, he can hear her screams there. Steve begs, and begs, he pleads on his knees and the water on the void floor splashes in his face as he beats his fits on the ground. It's no use, and he knows that. He does it anyways. For a moment he thought that maybe if he begged enough, screamed loud enough he would wake up. This would all be some fever dream and he would wake up in 1983, before this shit even started. Steve knew he wasn't that lucky.

His mother's screams subside and she left to crouching down beside her now dead husband as blood leaks from his skull. The only sound that can be heard now is Hailey's rapid breathing and his mother's quiet sobs, along with the crunching of the glass as Steve walks over to his mom. As the Illithid walks over to the mom. He crouches down beside her and strokes her hair. She doesn't even try to pull away, she just sits there. She knows she's next, knows that this is her time. He hears Hailey tip away in the back, he concentrates his mind and as he feels a pulsating rhythm in his temples she's being pulled back by an invisible force. He makes her trip into the glass and he lays the second shot into the back of her head. Blood pools from her head and the wine that his mother spilled earlier mixes in with it, becoming one.

Josephine whimpers. She asks, "Am I next?" Even though she already knows.

He looks at her, and the Illithid furrows Steve's brows, and he makes his eyes go sad and for a split second, Josephine has a hopeful look in her eyes. Like maybe, just maybe her son didn't go completely off the rails. But that's all it is, just hope. No love, no remorse for treating her son like a rock caught in her tire. She just wants to live. The Illithid crushes her spirits, he's had enough of this. He looks to Ryan, blood seeping under the island in the middle of the kitchen. He grimaces as he really looks at the man's face for the first time. Steve clearly got his looks from his mom.

Steve puts the gun in his mother's hands and directs it to her head. She whimpers and gives him one last look, one last plea for her life, "You really could've done better."

He pulls the trigger. It's over.

:::

Steve grips the phone in his hands as he sits in a pool of his mother's blood and he presses his bloody fingers to the numbers on the phone.

A scruffy voice picks, he sounds tired. The Illithid doesn't care.

"Hop?"

The Illithid paints a picture with his voice, strained and broken, full of pain and shock, but his face remains a blank canvas.

"Kid?"

"My - my mom she -"

He breaks into a convincing sob, he's got to get this right. It's all about the _execution_. If the Illithid weren't on the phone, he'd laugh at that.

"She did what, kid?"

"She - she killed my dad and - and the woman, too."

He hears some shuffling and some hushed voice. He's probably telling El he's got to get down to the station.

He adds, " _There's so much blood_." for good measure.

"I'll be right there kid, don't move. Don't move."

He doesn't move, and the Illithid chuckles as the blood from all three victims start to meld together, becoming one big pool of red.

  



	4. lucky charms and the walking dead

When Hopper moved to Hawkins, he had thought it was _good_.

Not good in the sense of liveliness and fun, but more in the way that he would have a better chance of settling. He and his wife divorced, his daughter died and suddenly the big city became a little too much. Too loud and too bright, so he made a change of scenery.

In 1983, Hopper had reached peak settled-ness. All he needed, really was a beer and someplace to kick up his feet. The occasional flings with the librarian or the fifth grade history teacher well, those were just little bonuses. And if he’s being honest with himself, he was fully expected to croak out and die within these confined borders of this town, to be old man Hopper, who died from a lack of happiness. And sooner rather than later, when his emotions lost their color and the world seemed to be one big shade of grey, he looked forward to that death, wondered when it would happen, and where. And no, it wasn’t being emotional, he was just _wondering_. There’s nothing emotional about thinking towards your death. Well, that’s only what he told himself. It doesn’t mean that it’s true.

And so, to Hopper’s unexpectedness, life changed. In 1983, of all years. The year he finally accepted his fate of being alone and grumpy for the rest of his life. The feeling, the color started to come back, but only in the dark color of fear. Little monsters with teeth where it’s eyes and mouth and other people things should be. And these monsters weren’t people, but people were monsters. Scientists with guns and killers in Hawkins Light and Power vans. Then his plan changed, he’d be okay dying a heroic death instead of just a grouchy old guy. He was fine with that.

Then the years of 1984 and ‘85 sort of molded together into a big bright ball of color that busted in his face like confetti, ‘ _You’re_ _a_ _dad!_ ’

El, the girl who wandered into his life, rather unsurprisingly. Sure it was strange that she had powers, and that she didn’t really know most words, no. The strangest part about it was that his plan changed, for the third and last time. This little girl in all her little strong hearted brown eyed glory, changed it - changed him. He can’t die an old grouchy man, or even die heroically, he can’t die at all. Not until she’s gone first at least. And that might be unrealistic but, he’s fought monsters from a world only slightly dissimilar to his own. He could _be_ a little unrealistic.

He came to Hawkins because it was simple, even after the monsters. Because, only the tight knit group of people knew about the monsters, the town didn’t know which means the town was safe. As long as Hopper and his - his people were around to do away with it.

Monsters, he can hide, but murder, that is an entirely different story. Especially when people walking around town saw Hopper pull Steve Harrington out of his car, covered in blood. Especially when Hopper could hear a sickening squelching noise every time the Harrington kid took a step, he had forgotten to change his socks after his feet were sitting in the puddle of red that smelled like iron.

And when Steve sits in front of Hopper’s desk as he takes his statement, he knows the little pockets of blood will forever be stained in the carpet.

It’s been thirty seven minutes, and the only thing Hopper has written down is Steve’s name, which he already knew.

”Kid, I _know_ , okay? I know.”

And he did, sure. Sara didn’t exactly die - she didn’t exactly leave the same way the Harringtons did, but he lost her. In the end, it’s all the same, really.

He leans forward, and he looks at Steve even though the boy can only look at the gun that Hopper sat on the desk.

Hopper follows his gaze and sighs, “Your mom she uh - you said she shot someone?”

The boy sniffles and shrinks down in his seat, he looks tiny and scared, suddenly he looks too small for his clothes. Too small for the personality of Steve Harrington, and it makes Hopper uncomfortable. He feels like it’s his first day on the job.

”She shot Josie.” He says, still staring at the gun. Hopper wants to move it out of sight but he doesn’t, not yet.

”Who, kid? Who shot Josie?”

Steve leans forward, and Hopper almost lurches out of his seat when Steve’s hand traces the barrel of the gun, but he doesn’t pick it up. And in all forty minutes of being here, the kid is finally talking.

” _Josephine_ shot Josephine.”

His breathing picks up, “Josephine shot Josephine, Josephine shot Ryan, Josephine shot Hailey.”

He moves his hand from the gun and tugs at his hair, pulling on it.

”Kid, you’re okay.”

He pulls harder and Hopper snatches the gun from the edge of the desk and puts it in his drawer.

”Harrington - kid, _stop_.”

He whispers, “That wasn’t me.”

Hopper leaves his chair and rounds his desk to crouch beside Steve, and do his best to comfort him, “I know, kid. We know it wasn’t you, we _know_.”

Steve looks at him, really looks him dead in the eyes, “It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it.”

Hopper looks down at his hands, at his desk, at the walls - he looks for something to help. A fucking pamphlet on dealing with traumatized children that he only really talked to when they’re saving the world from near collapse. But there is no manual, no book, there aren’t any instructions for this - for comforting. It only comes natural with El, and honestly both he and her are both learning how all of this works. All Hopper has is words, useless, meaningless words full of lies and only an intent to help the boy calm down. Hopper wants them to mean something, he wishes that his words could spark some truth, that Harrington would actually be alright, but this isn’t a movie, or a tv show, things don’t work like this here. They just don’t. So he spills the crumbs of the comfort cookie that holds no flavor, and he talks to the boy who looks eerily similar to a little kid again.

“Steve, I know it wasn’t you, it was your mom, okay? _She_ did this.”

He strains out a, “No.”

Hopper puts his hands on the boys shoulders, and pulls in him closer, “What are you talking about, kid?”

Steve looks at him, eyes dark like pencil lead and black ink, “ _He made me do it._ ”

Hopper blames the way that his stomach goes cold on the broken heater.

”He made me do it.” He repeats. “I didn’t want to, I tried to stop him. He made me do it.”

He rocks back and forth in the chair, and Hopper’s hands fall limp from his shoulders, gone slack at his sides as he stares off in awe. Stomach still freezing, like ice rattling around in his gut. Stupid broken heater.

”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

The heater had been fixed weeks ago.

And Hopper dares to speak, dares to let the smoke of uncertainty and fear leave embers of pain and death, “Kid, what are you talking about.”

When Steve meets his gaze again, it’s as if someone took an eraser, made Steve go away and brushed off the pink residue. And when Steve let go of his hair and sat correctly in the chair and stared straight ahead, something washed over Hopper. Something familiar, a sense of deja vu and it sucks. It sucks because if this - this thing with Steve is what Hopper thinks is happening - well. There's no hope, this shit seems to happen every year like clock work. Whenever things seem to be okay, something from another world decides otherwise. 

"Kid I need to go and process the scene. Will you - you'll be good here by yourself?"

And it probably isn't a good idea to leave him alone here, but.

So when Steve says, "I'll be fine, Chief." Hopper doesn't hesitate to retrieve his gun from his desk drawer and high tail it out of the station.

=

When Hopper's car screeches into the driveway of his home that he now shares with Joyce and her kids, he doesn't know if he's relieved or disgruntled when he sees the kids' bikes in the yard. Doesn't know if he should tell them right away, thinks about waiting until later, when they all leave. He feels like those kids have been through quite enough already. But as he steps out of his car, and tugs his hat tighter on his head, he realizes that he doesn't know how long that thing has been in Steve - if it's even in him. Four people have died already, and up until now, Hopper didn't even have a clue of what it could have been. And it's a little silly, maybe.

Hopper opens the door, and all falls silent as he interuppts an intense game of D&D. Joyce steps out from the kitchen, worried by the sudden silence and her face goes dark when she sees Hopper, and her eyes drift to the little pocket on his shirt. He didn't even know he had blood on it.

"It's Steve."

Joyce steps closer to him and Dustin moves from his spot on the floor. He asks, "What about Steve?"

Hopper ignores them and he points to the one kid who can help him right now. And the kid looks at him, like he knew already. Like he fucking knew. "I need to talk to you, about that thing."

Joyce picks up a rag and pats at the spot of blood. She knows it won't do anything, just doing something to keep her busy, "Hop, what's going on?"

And he's desperate, desperate to end this, to keep this away from his family. He says again, "I _really_ need to talk to you, kid."

Will stands up shakily, and the look in his eyes, Hopper has to look away. "Okay."

Hopper moves over to the couch, and Will sits down beside him, and El stares at them, ignoring the other as they quickly pack away the game. Will slowly looks up at Hopper, like he was afraid, "What do you need to know?"

Hopper says each word slowly, fractured. "I need to know about the shadow thing."

"Hop, I don't like this. Tell me what's going on."

He holds a hand out dismissing her, "Kid, I know it's hard, but I have to know. Right now."

" _Hopper_!"

" _Joyce_!"

She moves in front of Hop and Will where they sit on the couch, and the kids scramble back as to not be stepped on by her. "Hopper, tell me what is going on. _Right now_."

Hopper runs a hand across his face, a habit he should try and break. He sighs and leans on his knees, racking his brain on how to tell them that this is happening again. So soon after the last incident. Usually, fate would give them a year, or so. A year of bliss, happiness, and sometimes in the right moments they could almost forget that their lives were plagued by monsters and darkness. Hopper didn't miss the far off stares, he didn't miss how Dustin would shy away from elevators whenever they went into the big cities. He didn't miss how Lucas would leave the room whenever they watched Blow Out and fireworks came up. Joyce's weariness of the carnival. The way Steve made a point to avoid the new Indiana Flyer attraction near the town square. He didn't miss any of it, he made it a point to _notice_ it. Hopper didn't bring up carnivals, he stuck to the stairs, talked to Robin at the video store and avoided any movies with fireworks, and he unplugged the flyer and pissed off Mrs. Fields every morning. And he made it a point to keep track of any and everything upside down related, and he'd missed the mark. Because somewhere along the way of him unplugging a mechanical fucking horse, Steve Harrignton was living in his car and had been possessed by the biggest thing he had been trying to avoid.

_Fucking Indiana goddamned Flyer._

He sighs, "Steve's in trouble."

Dustin scoots closer, carefully. "What did he do?"

Hopper just shakes his head, "I don't think he did anything."

"What does that mean?" El asks.

”I don’t think he’s himself. I think he’s -“

When he searches for the right word, Will is staring at him. Hopper isn't really sure if he ever blinked. "I think he's -"

Find the word.

" _Flayed_. I think he's flayed."

Mike scoffs and scoots closer to El, "That's impossible. It's _impossible_.

But El doesn't lean in closer to Mike, no. She turns her attention to Max, who's more focused on a spot on a floor rather than the reality, and Hopper isn't judging. 

El reaches out, touches her hand. "Max?"

Max grips her hand tight, and her head snaps up to Hopper, "How can we know for sure?"

Lucas pipes up, "The sauna?"

And Hopper hates to shut the kids down, they were immediately thinking of their old plan with a former flayed host but, "No, no. We can't."

"Why not, it's like the best plan ever?"

Hopper takes off his hat and rubs his head, he goes to put the hat back on but decides to toss it on the couch beside him, "Dustin that's why I'm here, kid. Steve's parents they're - they were killed."

Words, words fucking suck.

Joyce sits down beside Hopper, and he doesn't say anything when she doesn't see his hat and sits down on top of it. He can't say anything. She goes, "But that - that doesn't _mean_ anything, does it?"

”I don’t know, Joyce.”

And right then, it couldn't have. It could have been a bad coincidence. But the doorbell rings, and when Hopper opens the door Callahan is standing on the other side.

"Chief, we just uh - we got the samples back from the Adams crime scene."

Hopper nods, gesturing for him to continue.

Callahan nods, and Hopper doesn't miss the way he swallows roughly. “We uh - they found um -“ He clears his throat and shuffles from one foot to the other, and Hopper can feel the presence of Joyce and the kids behind him.

”Phil, _talk to me_.”

And when he says it, Callahan keeps his eyes trained on a cold, dead bug that lays on the ground. “It’s the Harrington kid.”

Joyce shoves Hopper to the side, just a little. “What about him? Is he - is he okay?”

”The Adams murder. Cheryl, his uh. His DNA, it was all over her.”

=

When Hopper leave the house after the news, Callahan follows behind him to the Harrington, and he actually processes the scene this time. The scene, the murder, it was too much. Another team, a few towns over had to come and do what Hawkins couldn’t. Broken wine glasses, broken wine bottles, spit, a gun, bullets. It looked like the perfect murder.

Wife catches husband with another woman, and _boom_. They’re dead. And a rich, put together woman like Josephine Harrington would never survive prison. So she took herself out, too. If Hopper didn’t have that feeling lining his stomach, he’d believe it. Hopper could figure what _really_ happened here.

When he arrives back to the station, he parks the truck and he just sits in it. Hoping that when he goes inside he won’t find everyone dead with Steve standing over them. But he can’t think like that, it isn’t Steve, but it’s his face. And his body, his voice. Just a few nights ago he was sitting right next to his daughter, who only a few months ago almost died at the hands that possess Steve at this very moment. Steve fought then, though. But now - he’s losing. Losing that grip on himself, on his surroundings. And Hopper fears that, soon, there won’t be a Steve anymore. Just a shell, a mannequin that lost its soul.

Hopper leaves the truck and he walks inside, and when he goes past Flo with a cig in his mouth, she doesn’t bat an eye. Through the window of his door, he can see an outline of Steve, and when he opens the door, he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even react and Hopper stops in his tracks just for a second when he sees that he’s been sitting in that same spot, for hours. He rests a hand on his gun, hoping that he wouldn’t have to use it. The plan was to get him back to the house, tie him down, get that fucking thing out.

”Steve?”

He turns around, and now that Hopper knows, it seems that every move he makes is slimy, eerie, meant to do harm. “Hey, Chief.”

He wasn’t supposed to take him out of here, he’s supposed to be in questioning. But he’s chief of police, and despite Phil’s protests, he can do whatever he wants. 

“You’re coming home, with me.”

He just gets up and says, “Okay, Chief.”

It’s almost like the thing isn’t even trying to be discreet. Like he wants them to know that he’s there, invading. Again.

Steve walks ahead of him to the truck, and Hopper tries not to linger on his pants for too long, they’re clear of blood.

Hopper clears his throat once they’re well on their way, “The kids are there, I told them to give you a bit of space, considering.”

”Yeah, thanks. I uh - _appreciate_ it.” Steve says as he nods and trails the outline of the window with his finger.

Hopper nods, “Joyce and I we’ll - we’ll get your car for you later on.”

”Don’t worry about it, I don’t really need it,” Then Steve looks at him, and something about it, wasn’t right. Maybe the lack of sincerity, the fact that it isn’t really Steve, “It’s just so, _reminiscent_ of my dad, y’know?” 

It felt like the thing was mocking him.

When they arrive, it’s well past 9 pm.

When Steve gets out, Hopper finally gets a grip on his gun, and he hits the boy over the head with it. He goes back in his car, and blows the horn. It’s the signal.

When everyone comes out, Jonathan helps Hopper wrangle an unconscious Steve into the house, and the kids grab the rope and duct tape from the back of Hopper’s truck. And just like clockwork, like luck is on their side, Joyce and Nancy pull into the driveway, and they go around to the trunk and pull of boxes of brand new heaters. Lots of them.

=

Steve wakes, and his skin itches. He looks down at his arms and torso, and in the void he winces.

He thinks, _good fucking job guys, i’m allergic to duct tape._

When he coughs from a dry throat, everyone leaps from the couch and run over to him in the kitchen. And Steve, well he’s weak. He’s been fighting, tirelessly. Over and over again, fighting with the other him on the inside. And he loses every time. 

Nancy walks up to him and first and scowls. And when she moves something behind him, the Illithid laughs until he feels a scorching heat on his back, then on his face, and every where else. 

Joyce comes into vision with a fire poker, and _oof_ , that was the kicker.

Everyone flinches back slightly when he laughs, hard. Cocking his head back.

”Really? This again?”

Mike moves closer, “We got rid of you.”

Steve pouts slightly, “You didn’t get rid of _all_ of me, little buddy.”

And when Steve looks straight ahead, an old friend catches his eyes, “Hi, Ellie.”

Lucas leans into Will slightly, “Where’s Robin with her dad’s heat gun?”

And Will only shrugs, shakily, his eyes trained on Steve. Steve looks at him and smiles. 

“You know, Will, you and Ellie are my favorites.”

Before either of the two could respond, Joyce moves in front of him with the fire poker, a warning. “Leave them alone.”

Steve chuckles, “If I could put my hands up in surrender, I so would.”

She just grips her makeshift weapon tighter, stands her ground. The Illithid admires that. There’s a knock at the door, and ragged breaths, like someone’s tired.

A raspy, sultry voice calls out, “Guys, you in here?”

Robin.

Hopper makes his way to the door, but not before he puts a steady hand on El’s shoulder. She nods, and he hesitantly walks away. 

Steve shuffles in his throat and he rolls his eyes at the way everyone tightens, goes on edge when he moves. “So, what’s the plan?”

Max rolls her shoulders, the little strands that escape from her ponytail stick to her face from the sweat, “We burn this thing out of you.”

”It’s not very polite to call me a _thing_ , Max.”

Footsteps scatter, and Robin is sliding into the room on bad shoes. Nancy steadies her and Hopper trails behind with what is probably the heat gun.

Steve looks up at her and smiles, “Hey _Rob_.”

She makes a face, and her voice is shaky and uneven when she speaks, “You in there, dingus?”

He tilts his head and moves his eyebrows up and his mouth down in mock thought, “Oh, I think he’s up here _somewhere_.”

In the next few minutes, the Illithid watches in awe as they turn up the knobs on the heater, and plug in the heat gun and point it directly in his face. And he laughs when the burning seeps into every corner of each room in this tiny house, and even more when they begin to leave the layers behind. Leaving themselves in tank tops, and sock less. The Illithid gives it a few minutes, makes a show of making the veins in his skin go from green to black, makes the circles under his eyes a little more prominent than usual. He even - well. Let’s see.

His eyes tears up, and his chest rises rapidly as his breathing gets out of control. He looks at his body, at his bound hands and feet. He looks at the people around him and his eyes widen, “What’s going on?”

Dustin sits up from where he was laying on the floor, said that heat rises, so he got as low as he could. He walks over to Steve, but doesn’t get too close. Smart boy. “Steve?” He says carefully.

Steve swallows hard, and a few tears fall down and wet the seat of his pants, “What’s happening to me?”

Dustin moves closer, kneels down in front of him and holds on to his knees, “You’re sick, buddy. But we’re gonna help you, okay?”

Robin moves to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, “Yeah, you’re gonna be okay, Steve.”

The Illithid shifts his gaze over to Joyce, who’s lowering her weapon. He looks at it in her hand, “Did I - Did I hurt someone?”

Max wipes her face and gives him a small smile, “Let’s just focus on helping you okay,” She stares at his arms and sees the black veins rising up, “We’re almost done.”

He nods slowly, and as he looks around the house he spots a cereal box on the counter. Jonathan sees his gaze and he walks over and grabs, holds the box out and he shakes it. “You like lucky charms?”

Steve’s stomach growls, “Yes, I guess so.”

Joyce beckons Jonathan over with the box, “Sweetie, when’s the last time you ate something?”

Steve hangs his mouth open as Jonathan opens the box, “I ate a cupcake,” Then he opens his mouth and pants as Jonathan shakes the sugary cereal in. Once he chews that down, he says ‘more’ and Jonathan does it again.

And really, the Illithid can put on a fucking show. He slides a few pieces of cereal under his tongue, and he smiles as their faces go into shock as the once rising veins disappear. He looks towards Joyce, to her fire poker, then back at Joyce. “I think you wanna use that now.”

Then he moves the charms from under his tongue, and just as she grips the poker a little tighter, as she’s finally caught on to what he said, Steve spits the cereal into the heater next to him, and it sparks and catches fire.

She yelps and jumps back and the Illithid uses his big boy brain and rips the duct tape, unties the rope and he stands, stretches as they look on in horror.

Robins lip trembles, and she steps back, only ever so slightly. “Steve?”

And she says it in such a way that the Illithid almost wants to give Steve back, she’s heartbroken. It’s her first real rodeo, fuck the mall, this - this is it. Her first time, and it’s her best friend of all people.

He shakes his head and goes, “Tsk tsk tsk, Steve won’t be waking up anytime soon.”

Nancy cocks her gun, and with one hand she points and aims it perfectly, if she pulls the trigger it’ll land right between his eyes, “What do you want?”

“You talking about me or Steve, Nance?” He asks as he circles around like a predator, ready to pounce. And he is, in a way. But she doesn’t back away, no. She - she keeps the barrel of the gun trained on him, finger resting on the trigger.

”’Cause Steve, well, he _wanted_ to be happy. To be a stress free teen, and he was for a minute there. All the way back in 1983.” He clicks his tongue at the end and throws his thumb back behind his shoulder.

”I mean did you know that _our friend_ Steve, hasn’t had a good nights sleep since 1983?” 

He turns to the curly headed kid who’s always wearing that hat. It’s getting harder to remember their names. “You, did _you_ know?”

The kid opens his mouth, but the Illithid cuts him off. “No, I think you were too busy heckling him for rides to notice.”

He points to the one who’s always up against El, “You, I know you didn’t. You’re just like your fucking sister, you never actually gave a shit.”

”None of you cared.”

He looks to the mom, with her big brown eyes, always too full of something. “You...he wanted to come to you.”

She lowers the fire poker slowly, and out of the corner of Steve’s eye he can see Hopper stepping towards them. Without looking, he holds the man in his place. He grabs Joyce’s chin, and he wants to laugh at the way he can feel everyone holding their breath. 

“He wanted to ask you for help, and he did.”

She shakes her head, he grips her chin harder. “Oh no, don’t lie. He did come here two weeks ago, he told you about how his parents were shit, he told you about how cold it’s getting on these November nights. He told you that his birthday was on November 2nd, did he not?”

She sobs and ducks her head down, he’s still holding on to her face so his hand moves with her movements. 

He says, “I have been watching, _Joyce_. For months I have been lurking, picking my next host. And the moment I saw that desperation in his eyes, I knew that he was the one.”

She bites her hand and she looks up at him, “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry I - I just had so much on my plate.”

He lets go of her face, “What’d you have?”

She chokes on a sob, “What?”

”You didn’t hear me,” He laughs right in her face, his nose brushes the bridge of hers, “I said, what did you have on your plate?”

When she doesn’t answer, he looks around to the crowd who stands around like unused mannequins in a warehouse. “I am the only one who cares about your _friend_.”

And he’s lying, of course. Sometimes he can’t even remember the boys’ name.

”That’s why he’s never coming back. _Never_. I won’t subject him to this - these _lies_.”

The small fire still burns behind him, he looks at everyone, individually. Each face and each pair of eyes telling their own story. And maybe they care about Steve, the Illithid doesn’t really care. It’s only a matter of time before they all start fighting about who cared for Steve the most, only a matter of time before they drift away from what their goal is. And by then, the Illithid will have won.

He picked right. He did good, he picked the lonely one.

He gives them a small smile and a salute before he vanishes, leaving them to bask in the overwhelming stench of their failure.

And when he leaves, Hopper gains control of his body again, and just as Joyce stars to calm down, as the fire dies and everyone takes a spot on the couch, the phone rings. It’s Callahan again, and in the next few minutes Hopper’s down at the diner, they were having a memorial for Cheryl Adams.

When he pulls up, the people are in the street, cowering in fear from the diner. He steps out and spots Callahan, frozen dead to his feet. 

“Phil? Phil? What’s going on?”

Phil only gasps, and his eyes go wide enough that Hopper thinks they could bust out of the socket. He follows his gaze, and then Hopper is pulling a gun on Cheryl Adams who’s walking around with a slit throat so bad that she can’t hold her head up straight. 

Then from his right, come the Harringtons, all of them. And that one lady who got caught up in the mix too, Hailey, he thinks her name was.

Then one of them disappears, and Hopper feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around to see Steve.

He says, “ _Sick memorial_ , huh?”

Then just down the street, the Indiana Flyer cuts on like clockwork, and really. It’s the best fucking memorial ever.


	5. billy hargrove and vines that choke

Being inside while her dad was out there - alone, it wasn't easy. Knowing he was out in the open, and that other Steve was out there, rampant, angry, and strong. Something that she wasn't anymore.

She tries, she focuses, and even after months of practicing she only move so little with her mind at a time. It's like the rules have changed, and she's having a hard time adjusting.

They all sit around, defeated. Hot and cold, the fear and sweet mix together, honey dripping off their skin. It's an uncomfortable silence, nobody knows what to say, they don't know if they should say anything. It isn't as easy as it used to be, they expected a triumph, a win, and instead, they got a face full of an impostor and a fire to match.

Nancy wipes at her face with a sweat-soaked sleeve, "We have to try again."

Robin nods and wipes her hands on her pants, "I agree, but what else do we do? I mean - I thought this was it, _this_." She gestures towards the heaters and even the small burnt patch of carpet.

Nancy stands and gesticulates tiredly and she scoffs, "How could you have thought anything? You don't even know anything about _this_."

"Come on Nance, that's not cool," Jonathan says from the floor, his shirt sticking to his skin still.

"You know what's not cool, Jonathan? The fact that that thing is still in him, after we tried our _hardest_ , and she just - just acts like it was so - so _mediocre_."

"I'm not acting like it was mediocre, of course, it's not fucking _mediocre_ , this is about Steve."

Nancy shrugs her arms, "Oh of course! Because you care _so_ _much_."

Robin stands now, a glare crawling its way onto her face, "I _do_ care, what the _fuck_ , Nancy?"

Joyce stands up next, and even in the heat that still sticks around, she pulls her sweater around herself, "Can we just - just please calm down. We all just want to help _Steve_."

"Do we?" Jonathan asks, his accusatory tone and sharp eyes stick his mother like a thorn.

"What?"

"That thing, he said that he came to you. He said he came to _you_ , asking for help."

Will speaks up, squished between Lucas and Mike, "It's not her fault."

"It has to be someone's fault. This has happened twice already. To _you_ ," He gestures to Max, "Your brother. This is the third time we've dealt with this and, nobody noticed."

Robin notices how Max flinches at the mention of her brother, "Chill, dude. They're just kids and - and she's your mom. Okay, there's no one to blame. Nothing to blame except that thing out there."

Dustin sighs loudly and sits forward with his head in his hands, "There _should_ be someone to blame. I told you, I told all of you that ' _something is wrong with Steve_ ', no one listened."

He sits back up and sinks lower in the chair. His voice is stone cold and quiet when he says, "I'm the only one who cares."

Mike sits up harshly, jostling Will, "That's such a fucking lie."

"Really, Mike? Every time he's around you just pick at him!"

Mike only shrugs, "That's just like, tough love shit, man."

"Tough love? _Tough love?_ "

Lucas sits up, putting his arm around Mike's chest, getting a little bit in Will's face, "Guys calm down, this isn't helping."

Max hits her fist on his foot from where she sits on the floor, " _Nothing_ is helping."

Then, like the first clack of popcorn, they all burst into an argument. Each pair arguing with a different someone, about a different something. It's loud and it's hot, and as El sits around and watches, listens, she feels detached all of a sudden. Detached from the world on the outside. She could hear the wind, the rustling of the leaves as the got swept up, and now the only thing that she can hear is the yelling. She feels strange, now she asks for any sort of noise, sans what she's surrounded by right now.

And as if she had magic, real magic and her very wishes had come true. She hears something, and everyone else heard it too. They stop yelling at one another when they hear a wretched scream ring throughout the woods and through the thin walls of the house. They all freeze and look at each other, earlier arguments set aside as they all run to the back door and squeeze into the shed, grabbing their respective weapons.

Once inside again, El holds an ax in her hand, almost holding it like she's afraid of it. She's never used this before, her greatest weapon was her mind, and it's no good anymore. They all stand around the front door, waiting for something, anything to ram against it.

Robin shifts on her feet, "Guys I don't - I don't think anything is coming."

After a few more minutes of waiting, they decide that for now, they're safe.

_crrrrrrrrrrkhhhhhh_

Their heads turn on a swivel and when the noise sounds again they all creep slowly towards Dustin's backpack.

Mike shudders, "You don't have another 'Dart' in there, do you?"

The sound goes again and something else is followed behind it, "- you hear me?"

El runs to the bag and pulls out the SuperComm, she knows that voice anywhere, even with the fear laced with it, "Hop?"

More static, and, "- hear me, kid?"

Joyce is right next to El when she asks, "Why does it sound so - gargly?"

Mike sets his little statuette down on a side table. "He's too far, and the woods, too thick."

El shakes her head and twists the knobs, “I need to know he’s okay. I need to know.”

Her heart goes a mile a minute, aching in her chest, feigning for the need to know. She closes her eyes and tries to slow her breathing. It doesn’t work, she opens her eyes again, and fiddles with the knobs more.

Mike touches her shoulder, “It’s not gonna work, El.”

She shrugs him off, “I need to know he’s okay.”

She twists more and more and only gets more static.

”I’m sure he’s fine, El.” Lucas tries, and she appreciates it, really. But it isn’t okay, it hasn’t been okay for a long time. It’s dark out, and with Steve out there, it’s even darker, the night creeping up onto your skin, making you itch. Her dad’s out there, with the itch, and with nothing to scratch.

A hum of electricity bounces off the walls, and as she twists the knobs harder and harder, it’s getting more difficult to see the little dials on the walkie as the lights flicker.

When El feels _it_ , she pushes for more, reaches for that emotion, that anger like her sister once taught her, it bubbles and it bubbles and it bubbles until it rises up and leaks out red from her nose.

”Can you hear me?” As clear as day.

She presses the button on the side, “Hop? Hop, are you okay?”

”I’m okay, I’m - _shit_. I’m driving up by the quarry, there’s too much going on in the city.”

Joyce moves closer to the speaker, “What’s going on?”

There’s silence for a moment, and El thinks that she ran out of juice, until, “It’s not good. It’s not good, I need you to stay inside.”

”What is going on?” Joyce repeats, and they all stand by loosely gripping their weapons, lying in wait for the danger that hangs in the air like black smoke.

”I don’t know. All I know is that Cheryl, her pops, and the Harringtons are all up, walking around.”

Joyce steps back, pulls Will close to her.

Hopper speaks again, sounding almost unlike himself over the static, “He’s killing ‘em in the streets, just a few but - I need you to stay inside.”

El frowns, “Why not come back home?”

”I am, I’m coming home. I just uh - took a detour..” And he trails off, like something took his attention.

”Hop?”

There’s nothing but the crunch of gravel on the other side of the walkie, and then,

”Daddy, did you forget about me?”

El looks up at Joyce, and then to everyone else. She presses the button so hard it crunches under the pressure, “Hop?”

And when the blood drips onto her shirt, the static, gargly sound comes back and before it completely goes out, she hears him say,

”Sara?”

El drops the walkie and roughly wipes at her nose with her sleeve. For just a few seconds, they all look at each other. Wide-eyed and tear-streaked. Joyce grabs her keys and pulls her sweater tighter around herself again, “Let’s go.”

=

”-forget about me?”

" _Sara_?"

There she was, a little just before she left Hopper all by himself. Blue dress, blue sweater, her hair in two little pigtails. He remembers this day, it's one of the ones he keeps in the back of his mind. For a bad day like one of these.

"Sara, baby. 'S that you?"

She moves closer to him, her little pigtails bouncing when she walks, "It's me, daddy."

He pulls her in close, and she feels so _real_ , like she's there, back just for him. She pulls away, and she puts her tiny little hands on his shoulders. She's so _tiny_.

"Did you forget about me?" She asks again.

Hopper rubs his hand on her head, messing up her perfectly done tails, "No, no. I'll never forget about you," He smiles, and he blinks a few tears out of his eyes, "You're my girl. I'll never forget my girl."

"But, you have a new girl, right daddy?"

He frowns and sighs slightly, "Oh, well. There's no rule, I can have two, you're both my girls."

He's quiet for just a moment when he hears the snap of a branch. He pulls away from what seems to be his daughter, reality coming back to him, he almost reaches for his gun.

Sara just grips her little hands on his shoulders even tighter, "What's she like?"

He sinks back down into the darkness, back into the mind of Hopper, about 8 years ago, "El? She's - she's good. Yeah, good."

"Where is she?"

"She's at home."

"Can I meet her? Will you take me to her?"

"Why?"

She moves her hands off of his shoulder and laces them together, lets her arms hang down in front of her, "I want to meet her, and her friends."

"Her friends?"

She nods and smiles at him. Her eyes look darker than what he remembers, "I want to see her friends, your friend, her sons, I want to see them, daddy."

Hopper nods, not all too sure if he's okay. He wonders if the monster got to him, he wonders if this is what it's like when you're on the inside.

Sara giggles and covers her mouth with her hands, "The monster wouldn't take you, silly."

"What?"

Then, just as quickly as he could blink, she morphs. Her tiny little body dissipates into a tiny little shadow, and then it grows. Taller and taller until it becomes a person again, and then Steve is in front of him. He's always around, it seems.

" _Oof_ , that had to stink, right? Seeing your dead baby daughter?"

Hopper looks at the ground and laughs bitterly, then he stands up. "What do you want, huh?"

Steve chuckles, "I want lots of things," He says, "But _El_ , is what I really want." 

"Why?"

Steve smiles, and walks circles around Hopper, "Why do you think you and your friends _lost_ , tonight?"

Hopper just shrugs, eyeing Steve every time he makes his way around him, "Cause you're stronger?" I - I don't know."

"Yes, but _why_?"

Once he gets in front of Hopper again, he stops. "Why didn't your little _tricks_ work this time? Why didn't Stevie pop right out of here and blow me to pieces?"

Hopper opens his mouth to answer but the rumble of one or more car engines put him to a stop. Steve says, "Well, I guess I'll have to answer you later. My prized possessions have arrived."

The cars stop, and Hopper's heart leaps to his throat when his family gets out, not even bothering to close all of the doors as they run over to him. El crashes into his chest, and he holds her close. "I told you to stay put."

She tilts her head up from his chest, "You weren't safe. I had to make sure you were okay," She looks back to everyone else, "We all did."

They all run to him, burrowing in his chest and sobbing, Steve claps. Startling them.

"That was _beautiful_ ," He puts his hand to his heart in mock admiration, "So precious."

Dustin wipes at his face, "What do you want?"

Steve groans and rolls his eyes. He looks to Hopper and says, "Didn't we already have this conversation?"

Hopper ignores him and pulls El closer into him. Steve notices and he walks a little closer to them, staring into El, "I want your _mind_."

She shivers due to the cold, and the sweat that freezes against her skin, "My... mind?"

Lucas toys with the wrist rocket in his hands, "What does that mean?"

"It means, that I'm learning."

He vanishes, and suddenly Will's reaching for his mom as he flinches away when Steve pops up next to him and puts a tight arm around his shoulder. "With you, _William_. I tried to make it as clean as possible. I only used _you_ , but. We _all_ know how that worked out. I did it wrong, _so_ wrong. I thought it had worked, it made sense that it would be you, William. And in the end, I failed. But, hey. At least you have the experience, little buddy." He ruffles Will's hair and when he pulls away, Joyce tugs her son close to her, fingers turning white around his arm.

Steve turns to Max, "With your William, well. I thought I had it made, I did. I thought I learned from my past mistakes, I used more people. But, I used too many. Made myself into a giant fucking flesh spider, I mean, really?"

He moves closer to her, "But your brother, well, he was great. He did everything I told him to do. Tried to put up a fight a few times, especially there in the end, but. You know how that went down, don't you Max?"

She stiffens and her eyes turn hard, "Don't talk about him like that."

"Oh?" Steve's eyebrows raise up, "You care about him? Do you miss him, Max?"

She sniffles and looks away from him. Turning her attention to the still waters that seem to glow under the moonlight. Lucas touches her shoulder, reaching around her neck, “It’s okay Max, don’t cry.”

Steve crouches down in front, coming just a little below eye level with her. “No, it’s not okay, Max.

”Your brother is dead as a goddamned doorknob. It’s okay to miss him, Max. Even though he treated you like garbage, yelled at you, hurt you, would call you names. You miss him, and you don’t even know why do you?”

He plops down on the dirt and gravel, and when he clasps his hands together, they’re all forced down to the quarry floor, knocking rocks and dust into the wind.

”I know why, Max. He was a fixture in your life, always there - always moving. I bet you even, sit in his room sometimes and mope. ‘Cause you miss, don’t you, Max.”

There’s a rustle in the trees behind them that makes their blood turn cold, and under the control of the Illithid, they can’t even turn their heads. The rustle goes again, coming closer and closer, moving violently through the forest behind them.

Then,

” _Maaaaaaaaaaaaaax.”_

Sheshakes her head _,_ closes her eyes and her nostrils flare as she tries to block it out. The leaves are further rooted from the forest floor as he closes in, quickly. His footsteps crunching the ground as he fast walks to them, eager to burn.

"Max, did you miss me?"

"Oh my god." Nancy reaches for her gun, removing the safety and she fires twice into his body. He jerks back, once, then one more time. The blood oozes from his shoulder, the middle of his chest. He sticks his finger into one, pulling out the bullet, and when he rubs his fingers together it dissipates into the air, like smoke.

"You gonna let your friend shoot me, Max?"

She shakes her head again, "You're not _real_. You're not _Billy_."

"Oh, but I am."

He leans in close, "I've got _hair_ like Billy. I've got _eyes_ like Billy, got a _mouth_ like Billy, a _voice_ like him," He lifts his tank, the very same one that Max is sure he died in, "I even got the _scars_ like Billy."

A tear escapes Max's eye, "Why are you doing this?"

What seems to be Billy, what seems to have what _he's_ got, he says, " _He made me do it_."

When Steve releases them, fully, let's them move, Max reaches for the face that matches Billy's. When she's close, really close, he turns into Steve. Max looks back at the one - the one that was already _there_ \- and he waves goodbye and he vanishes in the night.

She flinches back when he laughs, "You see, I just wanted you all to understand."

Jonathan stands up, Joyce follows close, holding on to her son, "Understand _what_?" Jonathan says, voice breaking against the trees, "That you're a sick piece of shit?" 

"I want you to understand that things change - they're always changing. It's up to you to keep up." Steve says. His mouth says.

He looks to Hopper, who still clings on to El for dear life, "Like, how I was your daughter, and then I wasn't," He turns to Max, a twinkle in his eyes, "Or, how I was your brother, and then I wasn't."

Dustin wipes at his nose with his wrist, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about _you_ , all of you. It won't click for you, will it? You don't change anything. You're getting _boring_ , come the fuck on! I'm _bored_."

He kicks at the gravel, picks up a hefty rock and tosses it into the quarry waters, sending ripples into the reflective moonlight. 

"I mean come on, the heat didn't work the second time, why were you so sure it would work now?"

A step, "Why would I, make the same mistake, _twice_?"

Another, "Steve isn't _up_ _here_ ," He uses two fingers to poke at his temple. The party frowns, loosening their grip on one another, going slack.

With another step, Steve turns towards the opening in the water, "Steve's - _in there_."

_Steve's eyes open at those words, his lids heavy, and bones heavier. He looks around at himself, the corners of the void that seem to go on forever. Forever in every direction. He looks for the other him, the one that he tried to fight, the one that Steve wanted to die at the hands of, to end all of this. He looks for him in this vast emptiness, and he sees nothing. No trace of the other him, as if he never existed. Steve tries to move, but he can't. He looks to his hands and feet, thinking that maybe the other tied him up, and left him to rot. But he finds nothing as he looks down, just the bruises of where he put up a fight. He tries to speak, tries to call out, but he can't. His throat feels dry and gooey, all at the same time. He panics, fear falling onto him in pieces like rainwater, he closes his eyes to calm him down, and his atmosphere, changes._

_The void shifts under his body, when he opens his eyes, there is no longer darkness, not in the same sense, anyways._

_It's dark, stuffy, smelly, and he's held against some, wall, something, by vines._

_There's a vine against his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter by the second. He opens his mouth, tries to give himself some air, tries to scream. The only thing he can manage is a pained groan, and that fluffy, white shit settles onto his tongue._

_white, fluffy shit?_

_And when it dawns on him, slowly, as everything does, Steve Harrington was never possessed, no. He was trapped, in what looks like the tunnels._

_And only a few feet in front of him was a gate. And if he squinted to see past the glow of it, to see past the spores, he saw a demogorgon staring back at him, with no face. Just waiting, for a chance._


End file.
